11:52:58 PST / 0:00:00 BVST
I forced my eyes from the stage. They landed on the place setting before me. I saw the envelope propped against my wineglass.
She’d written just one word on it: my name. She always had the most beautiful cursive.
My nausea doubled.
Why would Tina write me a letter?
I felt bile rising in the back of my throat. Suddenly, I was hoping she was screwing someone in one of the bedrooms.
I glanced around again, looking to see if I could spot the engineer, but he was nowhere to be seen.
11:53:11 PST / 0:00:00 BVST
I could feel the building shaking. I looked up at the clocks.
But we still have seven minutes.
Everything had to happen simultaneously.
People gathered near the back of the room were shouting. We knew something was wrong. Some were pointing at the stage and screaming.
We were so loud. All of us were shouting at maximum volume.
They can’t power up the cyclotrons and EMPs until after.
My nausea nudged upward, testing the waters in these unprecedented circumstances.
–:–:– — / 0:00:05 BVST
I stood up to see if I could spot Tina at the back. I shouted her name. But then I remembered the envelope and sank back into my seat. I closed my eyes for two, possibly three seconds. When I opened them, the BVST clock was running for the first time.
The shift happened while I had my eyes shut.
The curtains slid shut and I heard the incinerators and brush-bots fire up. We were five seconds into our four-hour universe.
My body had given me several warnings, and I’d ignored all of them. I dropped to my knees and threw up on the oriental rug beneath table 1.
Oh, okay, fuck all of this.
I stood up and saw dozens of people pressed against the hardened glass windows in the lobby. There was nothing beyond the windows. Nothing. No lights from the streetlights, no security checkpoints, no sidewalks, nothing.
Well, at least the STC thing worked, I thought sourly.
Some others pounded against the glass. I panicked for a second. It wasn’t an empty space beyond the glass barrier; it was a void; it was nothing. The engineer had told us that we could probably touch it, but he wouldn’t recommend it. It was all so theoretical. The windows, walls, floor, and ceiling were the boundaries of our universe.
Home, sweet home.
I looked at the clocks again. l was glad that we blanked the PST time once we’d shifted. They would only diverge in four hours. And then again four hours after that. With all that had gone wrong, it was at least one thing to be grateful for.
(to be continued…)
Stories by Shawn 